


Elizabeth

by vatrixsta



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-04
Updated: 2009-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-04 03:59:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vatrixsta/pseuds/vatrixsta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When does destiny =really= begin?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elizabeth

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a speed challenge - three hours from inception to completion. Full challenge (plus song lyrics) can be found at the bottom.

~

It had been the strangest day from the moment she'd opened  
her eyes.

Buffy sat in McArthur Park, her fist clutched around a diary  
that was over a hundred years old. Willow had warned her not  
to come to Los Angeles, especially not so soon after Buffy's  
mother's death. Buffy hadn't felt she'd had a choice,  
though. The city had been calling to her soul.

Her father was on a business trip in South America; she  
hadn't even had a chance to inform him about his ex-wife's  
death yet.

Dawn was her sister, but now, Buffy had to assume the role  
as primary caregiver for the girl. There was no way Buffy  
could allow herself to lean on Dawn, to burden her with yet  
another heavy load. Finding out you were some kind of freaky  
key instead of a normal, fourteen-year-old girl was bad  
enough. Tack on losing your mother a short two weeks later,  
and Buffy was amazed Dawn hadn't lost her mind.

Giles had offered to take care of her sister while Buffy  
took this trip. Her great aunt still lived in one of those  
houses in the Hollywood Hills that were built back in the  
20s. Elizabeth "Buffy" Foster had been a silent film  
actress; had made a tidy sum of money before she'd quit the  
business. Buffy herself had been named after her. Joyce had  
never been close with Elizabeth, but had always told Buffy  
she'd owed her aunt more than she could say.

Ever since Joyce's death a few weeks ago, Buffy had been  
remembering comments her mother had made like that. The  
curiosity had been driving her crazy. Why had this woman  
Buffy had never even met been special enough to Joyce that  
she'd named her firstborn daughter -- her only =real=  
daughter -- after her?

A single tear fell onto the diary, and Buffy looked down,  
mildly surprised to find that she'd begun crying again.

And why did everything that happened to her always have to  
come back to Angel?

~

"Excuse me, I'm looking for Elizabeth Fo--"

"Good God," a young man breathed from beyond the rod iron  
security door, "you look . . ."

Buffy glanced around. "What? Did I wear stripes and plaid  
together again?" she worried, checking her outfit.

"Who are you?" he gasped out.

"Buffy," she answered, a bit defensively.

If possible, the man grew paler and made an odd choking  
sound in the back of his throat. Both he and Buffy jumped  
when the intercom to her left crackled to life.

"Bring her in," a deep, throaty voice instructed. Sounded  
like a woman, Buffy thought.

The gate opened, and the man held out a hand. "Timothy  
Kramer," he introduced properly.

"Buffy Summers," she greeted, shaking his hand firmly. He  
winced, and she was immediately contrite. "Sorry. Don't know  
my own strength."

"Seems to run in the family," Timothy muttered.

Buffy took issue with that, but didn't comment. Her only  
objective was to find Elizabeth, and this glorified gopher  
wasn't going to stand in her way.

It was a short walk up the drive. The place had been built  
in the 20s, a single level, sprawling Spanish style ranch  
house. Assuming something could be described as a 'ranch'  
without any sign of so much as a chicken.

Timothy led them out back to a small patio overlooking the  
pool. A portable radio played a song Buffy didn't recognize,  
but was drawn to against her will. Her gaze scanned the  
area, settling on the two lounge chairs, ends barely  
touching the lip of the pool. There, hidden behind the brim  
of a large, garish sun hat, was the woman Buffy presumed to  
be her namesake.

"So you're Joyce's little bundle, hmm," she murmured,  
glancing up at Buffy.

"That's me," Buffy replied with forced cheer. The other  
woman's eyes were still concealed by the dark sunglasses she  
wore, but her age was obvious.

Elizabeth looked Buffy up and down so long, even the slayer  
started to feel a little uncomfortable. Timothy cleared his  
throat loudly, and the older woman's attention was  
thankfully diverted to him.

"You still here?" she asked grumpily.

"I didn't think you'd want to be alone with your . . .  
guest," he murmured tastefully.

"And I don't pay you to think," she snapped, then added,  
"thankfully."

"But Ms. Foster--"

"Take a long lunch, Timmy," she instructed. "And don't  
bother coming back until the sun has set."

With a frown, Timothy scurried away. Buffy withheld a smirk.

"I don't really know how to do this," Buffy confessed once  
they were alone.

"Bullshit," Elizabeth said flatly. "What you don't know how  
to do is make this visit seem like something other than it  
is."

Buffy was flabbergasted. "I beg your pardon?"

"This is a selfish endeavor, young lady," Elizabeth  
pronounced. "You want to know all my secrets. It's about  
time you ended up here. I really thought your mother would  
be the one to disobey that idiot sister of mine and seek me  
out."

"That's my grandmother you're talking about," Buffy said  
coldly.

"And she was a silly fool, incapable of facing the monsters  
under the bed," Elizabeth insisted. "'Course, she never  
really had to face them head on. That privilege was all  
mine."

"I don't understand," Buffy said weakly.

"Did you know I was adopted?" Elizabeth asked, changing  
tactics.

"No?" Buffy offered, growing more confused by the second.  
Maybe she should have waited longer after her mother's death  
before trying to confront all the secrets she'd taken to her  
grave.

"Well I was. I was born in China, the turn of the century."  
A smile curved her wrinkled lips. "I'm a hundred and one  
years old."

Buffy gulped. She'd suspected 'Aunt' Elizabeth was old, but  
she hadn't guessed at just how old. As she thought that,  
Elizabeth took her sunglasses off, and Buffy gasped, sitting  
down heavily on the lounge chair opposite the other woman.

Elizabeth's eyes were blue. Of course, that's like saying  
the ocean was 'deep' and outer space was 'big.' This was the  
kind of blue that captured your attention, kept you in its  
thrall for a lifetime. Those eyes on the silver screen . . .  
no wonder she'd been a successful actress. They were ancient  
eyes, with a great deal of wisdom locked behind them, and  
even in black and white, they would have been captivating.

The only eyes Buffy had ever stared into that held more  
wisdom belonged to a man who'd lived for over two centuries.

"Your grandmother ever tell you I saved her life when she  
was barley out of diapers?" Elizabeth sat up straighter. "If  
it weren't for me, you never would've even been born." A  
shadow passed over her eyes. "And if it weren't for him, I  
would've died with my real family in that godforsaken war."

"Him?" Buffy asked, fascinated. The intricacies of death had  
interested her more and more since she became the slayer. A  
woman decides she wants a bagel for breakfast, skips across  
the street to Noah's Deli, and ends up flattened by a semi.  
Some guy gets in a fight with his girlfriend because he  
forgot to put down the toilet seat, gets lured out of a bar  
by a hot looking girl and ends up with her fangs in his neck  
in a urine soaked alley.

A girl makes love to the only man she's ever really loved,  
and it was so bad, he tries to suck the world into hell . .  
.

"Him, of course, him," Elizabeth muttered. "That's why  
you're here, isn't it?"

"I don't--"

"You do," Elizabeth insisted. "You know very well. He saved  
me. It was supposed to happen like that, you realize. He  
saved me, so that you could one day save him."

"But--"

"Help me up," Elizabeth ordered, and Buffy complied, too  
confused to put up much of a fight.

With Buffy's assistance, Elizabeth led them into the house,  
and down a long flight of stairs. Elizabeth talked the  
entire way.

"He's been visiting me, you know," she confided. "Ever since  
he moved here. Had that girl that works for him look me up  
in one of those damned computers. Found me in under an hour.  
He sneaks in at night. Timothy hasn't a clue," she added  
with a chuckle as they reached a door.

It was odd to Buffy that finding this woman had some kind of  
secret, underground facility in her house wasn't all that  
odd.

Once inside, Buffy had to work hard to remember how to  
breathe. It was like a shrine to the movies of the 20s.  
Posters adorned the walls, one in particular entitled "The  
Flying Giraffe" caught Buffy's attention. There were shots  
of what was obviously a young Elizabeth Foster, and Buffy  
finally realized why Timothy had been so stunned by her at  
the gate.

Buffy could have =been= Elizabeth at twenty.

"But that's impossible," Buffy mumbled. "We're not even  
related by blood!"

Elizabeth clucked her tongue at Buffy. "You think something  
as basic as family, as connection, comes through blood,  
little girl?"

Numbly, Buffy shook her head, and began investigating the  
room closer. For some reason, she was drawn to a pile of  
photographs taken in the late thirties.

"That was the 'Wizard of Oz' premiere," Elizabeth said over  
her shoulder. "You'll be interested in one of those."

Buffy was confused for a moment, until she came across a  
picture of Elizabeth, arm in arm with a handsome young man.

That picture froze every molecule in Buffy's body.

It could have been her and Angel.

Another realization slipped into place.

That =had= been Angel.

"Him," Buffy whispered, tears coming to her eyes. She'd  
cried far too much the last few weeks . . .

"Him," Elizabeth confirmed. "He saved me. Brought me to  
America with him. I don't recall the trip, having been so  
young. Once we were here, he found a family for me, left me  
with them. I didn't know who he was until I was twelve. He'd  
been watching me, making sure I was safe, lurking in the  
shadows."

"He's good at that," Buffy agreed, tracing the familiar  
features that hadn't aged a day since that picture had been  
taken.

"I knew him the second I saw him," Elizabeth said with  
pride. "Some sense memory in me recognized him. Not in the  
silly, romantic way they always talk about in books, but in  
the sense that . . . he was my family, come to claim me."

"Did he?" Buffy asked, even though she already knew the  
answer.

"Did a vampire walk into someone's home and demand the child  
they'd adopted years before?" Elizabeth shook her head  
sadly. "No. But he did stay for years. Until I married  
someone else. Then he left, because he felt he'd be in the  
way." She chuckled bitterly. "My husband only married me so  
I would help him sell his screenplay. He left, too, after  
awhile."

"Were you in love with him? Not your husband," Buffy amended  
quickly.

"It's hard to know him and not be a little bit in love with  
him," Elizabeth confessed. "But did I love him the way you  
do? No."

"I don't," Buffy began automatically, then stopped herself.  
What was the point?

"He came back again sometime in the fifties," Elizabeth  
said, a shadow passing over her face, "but I wouldn't see  
him. I blamed him for my mistakes, and I turned him away.  
Said my life was better without him in it."

"And of course he just left again, without even trying to  
put up a fight, or call you on what a bitch you were being .  
. ." Buffy bit her lower lip. "Sorry. My stuff."

"A little bit our stuff, I think," Elizabeth noted wryly.  
"But then he came back again, a little over a year ago. He  
went through a bad patch for awhile, but he seems better  
now."

"Bad patch?" Buffy asked weakly.

"Didn't tell me much before he stopped coming around,"  
Elizabeth said, "but he mentioned 'unfinished business' in  
that ominous way he has. If I were a betting woman, I'd of  
put everything I had on a girl, but meeting you, seeing how  
you have no clue what I'm talking about, I think that maybe  
I'm wrong. To hear him talk, you hung the moon, and I doubt  
he even realizes there are other women in the world."

"He talks about me?" Buffy hated the needy tone her voice  
had taken. I don't need a man, she thought intently.

"He doesn't refer to you by name, if that's what you mean.  
It's more how he says things. We get into a conversation  
about love, for instance, and he starts talking about  
unspeakable loyalty, honor and courage like he's quoting  
sonnets."

"Knowing Angel, he might be," Buffy said with a nervous  
little laugh.

"Congratulations."

"Why?"

"You just said his name out loud."

Buffy sucked in a sharp breath. "It's hard to--"

"You don't need to tell me," Elizabeth said, waving her  
explanation off. "Whatever the emotion, I've lived it,  
played it, and immortalized it for all time." A glint  
appeared in her eye. "Come here, let me show you something."

The woman Buffy had learned was over one hundred years old  
practically =ran= across the room. Buffy raised her  
eyebrows, reconsidering her idea that Elizabeth was anything  
approaching 'frail.'

"I had them all transferred to video a decade ago,"  
Elizabeth hollered over her shoulder as she rooted around  
through a small cabinet. "No, no, no," she muttered to  
herself. "Aha!"

"Aha?"

"Here it is," Elizabeth crowed triumphantly, popping a  
videocassette into the VCR. It was hooked to a large screen  
TV, and the picture began to flicker.

"What are we watching?" Buffy asked, taking a seat on the  
small daybed toward the back of the room.

"Home movies," Elizabeth said cryptically.

Must have picked that up from Angel, Buffy grumbled  
silently.

"That song," Buffy murmured as the video started.

"Mary Chapin Carpenter," Elizabeth sighed. "I have this song  
dubbed over all the home movies. Best damn singer there is  
since Frank died."

"Sinatra?"

"Badalucco," Elizabeth corrected. "Never made it big, but he  
used to play the parties back in the thirties. Beautiful set  
of pipes."

"Not that I don't find it fascinating -- cause I do -- but  
why are we watching this?"

"There. Right there." Elizabeth indicated the screen, and,  
dutifully, Buffy looked.

"I don't see -- oh!" Leaning in closer, Buffy felt her mouth  
drop open slightly.

A small suburban home was in the frame when Elizabeth paused  
the VCR. On the lawn sat a group of people. Grandma Linda,  
who bore more than a passing resemblance to Buffy's mother;  
an exact replica of Buffy, who surely must have been  
Elizabeth; a tall, refined gentleman Buffy assumed was her  
great grandfather, though she'd never even seen a picture of  
him.

And to Elizabeth's left, standing removed from the group,  
yet oddly present, was Angel.

"I brought him home under the guise that he was a young man  
come to court me." Elizabeth chuckled. "He'd take me out,  
supposedly to dinner, and then drive me into Hollywood, take  
me from audition to audition until I finally got a job. I  
always arranged them at night, and he never once stood me  
up." A tear ran down Elizabeth's cheek. "He told me once  
that I'd made him realize the path he'd chosen to walk was  
wrong. He said that saving me was what gave him the courage  
to change."

Angel, dressed in clothes from the nineteen-thirties,  
looking so protective toward her mirror image, fascinated  
Buffy. Was that how he looked at me? she wondered. Like I  
was made of glass and he'd lay down his life if it would  
spare me a moment's pain?

"He loved you," Buffy said without thinking first.

"Of course he did," Elizabeth said, as though it were  
obvious.

Buffy stared down at her hands, trying not to feel the way  
she was feeling. It was ridiculous, being upset over this.  
He'd told her that in two hundred and forty-three years,  
he'd loved exactly one person. Then he'd let her believe it  
was her. What if he'd never loved her at all? What if he'd  
only been drawn to her because she'd been the spitting image  
of this woman he'd loved and lost so many years ago? What  
if--

"Good God, you've got insecurities that go around knocking  
out other insecurities," Elizabeth declared.

"Huh?"

"He loved me," she explained patiently, "like a daughter.  
You -- you he loves in a way I don't think there are words  
to explain."

Buffy stared down at her hands, embarrassed, only to snap  
her gaze back to Elizabeth at the older woman's next words:

"But I may have a few words that'll suffice."

~

"No, Cordelia, it's not that . . . look, I know I have to  
practice, but I'm pretty sure the apocalypse is more than a  
few months away, and I've probably got some wiggle room . .  
." A sigh. "Fine. No, you're right, I agreed to do it, by  
the time you get back from your audition, there will be a  
freshly baked chocolate cake with raspberry sauce for  
dipping."

Angel smiled at something Cordelia said. "Good luck . . . no  
I don't think you =need= luck, I'm just wishing you some  
anyway. Goodbye, Cordy."

Hanging up the phone, Angel clicked up the volume on the TV  
a few notches. "Iron Chef" was on, and, as per Cordelia's  
instructions, he was learning how to cook at least six  
different meals in preparation for the day his "liquid diet"  
no longer appealed.

He'd already mastered the fine art of Kraft macaroni and  
cheese from a box. At least, Gunn and Wesley had eaten it  
without complaint. Cordelia had turned her nose up at it,  
but Angel noticed the leftovers he'd put in the refrigerator  
had mysteriously disappeared when she took her lunch the  
next day.

Dessert, or so he'd been told, was the most important meal  
of the day. Memories of chocolate and peanut butter briefly  
flitted through Angel's mind, and he had to ruefully agree  
that whoever said that was absolutely right. Of course, his  
opinion could have more to do with the company than what  
they'd been consuming.

Humanity had always loomed on the edge of Angel's  
consciousness, but hadn't taken quite so predominant a role  
until Wesley had correctly deciphered the shanshu prophecy.  
Then, the thought of being human one day had consumed him to  
the point that he'd stopped doing the job he'd been called  
back from hell to do, to the best of his ability.

After that, he'd started a downward spiral exasperated by  
Darla's return, but not entirely dependant upon it, either.  
Depression was an old friend of Angel's, but after getting a  
taste of what life could be -- and giving it up, in the case  
of that lost day with Buffy -- Angel was ready to admit  
defeat.

Eternally screwed, was the phrase that occurred to him most  
often. Nothing had mattered to him but taking Wolfram and  
Hart down. It was so convenient when you could pin  
everything wrong with your life on a single entity. It  
focused your rage, narrowed your vision, and gave you reason  
to lay everything on the line.

Angel regretted firing his crew more than almost anything  
he'd done during that darkness; regretted it even more than  
he regretted locking that door.

They hadn't come back together easily, but they =had= come  
back together. Cordelia, especially, had been difficult to  
persuade, but once he had, she admitted the blame didn't  
solely rest on Angel's shoulders. He wasn't sure he agreed  
with her, but the fact that she'd said it meant the world to  
him.

"Come on, you can kick his ass," Angel muttered to the  
television as the Iron Chef prepared to do battle.

He'd just taken the cake out of the oven, and put the  
finishing touches on the raspberry sauce when his phone  
rang.

"Angel Investigations, we help the hopeless," he greeted as  
cheerfully as he could manage.

His brow furrowed. "Elizabeth . . . slow down . . . what do  
you mean she just left? What was she doing there in the  
first place?" His eyes shut, and the phone nearly dropped  
from his hands. "Buffy," he whispered, thinking of Joyce  
again, the last stable influence Buffy had had in her life,  
all her life, taken so suddenly from her. He hadn't expected  
the loss of Buffy's mother to bring her to Los Angeles, but  
in retrospect, he should have known.

"Elizabeth, where did she go?"

~

Buffy,

If you're reading this, I hope it's because I gave it to  
you, and not because you beat it out of Elizabeth. That was  
a joke, in case you couldn't tell. I should probably crumple  
this up and start over again, but I've already done that  
twice, and I'm writing this while Wes and I wait for a  
Kantar demon to attack, so I'll just get on with it.

Elizabeth was a slayer, called unfairly early. She was  
eleven and the council sent no Watcher for her. They deemed  
her calling a mistake, and decided to let nature take its  
course, to hopefully give them an older, more mature slayer.  
So you see, they've always been prigs, and it's not just  
you.

I began training and assisting Elizabeth. Her family wasn't  
overly thrilled with me, but given that she'd shown no  
interest in any other men, they saw me as her last shot at  
getting a husband. I took her to auditions, for she was just  
as determined as you to have a normal life. The monsters in  
her closet weren't as evil as the ones in yours, but they  
stole her innocence all the same.

On the day of her twenty-fifth birthday, the most remarkable  
thing happened -- Elizabeth lost her strength. Not because  
of any test, or procedure, but because she had simply come  
to the end of her journey.

No slayer on record has ever reached their twenty-fifth  
birthday. Elizabeth's accomplishment was never recorded  
because to the Watchers, it never happened. They most  
likely believed her dead when a new girl was called. In  
truth, Elizabeth has lived to a ripe old age, something I  
will move heaven and earth to see happen to you.

Elizabeth's Prince Charming turned out to be a toad. I hope  
this isn't so for you. While nothing would give me greater  
joy than to be the man allowed to grow old with you, I would  
be content to know that you're happy, and loved. That's all  
I've wanted, from the moment I saw your face in the sunlight  
in front of your school.

I saw your heart that day, but I also saw the reason for my  
cursed existence. I had saved Elizabeth, Elizabeth who had  
grown to look so very much like you. I took it to be a sign,  
that the two women who've managed to play such pivotal roles  
in my evolution should wear the same face.

I only learned of Elizabeth's relation to you a few short  
months ago. Granted, I should have known, but it had never  
seemed important to me before. When you live the kind of  
life that we do, you tend to take a lot on faith.

The reason I never told you that on your twenty-fifth  
birthday you might find peace, is because knowing would have  
made you sloppy and over-confident. Don't roll your eyes at  
me, because you know it's true. Instead of telling you, in  
my mind, I'd always intended to keep you safe until you'd  
fulfilled your destiny, then let you ride off into the  
sunset with some normal, human boy who could never be me.

At least, that's what I believed until I found this scroll.

All may not be as hopeless as I once feared, my love. I'm  
writing this now, not because I intend for you to read it,  
but because it gives me a light to follow in the darkness.  
My existence in this world is not by chance, nor is it the  
abomination I once feared. I, too, am chosen in a way, and  
I, too, have a destiny to fulfill.

The wish that lives and breathes in the most secret place in  
my heart is for our destinies to connect, to play out, and  
to finish together. If this wish is granted, I plan to take  
you in my arms, and never let you go again.

This journal chronicles my life after the restoration of my  
soul, my time spent with you, in Sunnydale, and all that  
came before that. I've started a new journal for my life in  
Los Angeles, one I hope to give you as well one day. But  
this . . . this I hope to be a wedding gift, whether it be  
the day you marry another, or as I hope, on the day that I  
take you as my wife.

I have hope, and for now, it's enough that only Elizabeth  
know of its existence since she's the person who kept me  
alive long enough for you to save me.

Always,  
A

~

"And if you ever think of me, let it be around twilight,  
when the world has settled down and the last round of  
sunlight is waning in the sky, as you sit and watch the  
night descending . . ."

Angel turned his head to look at the breathtaking creature  
singing on stage. Her hair fell in soft golden waves around  
her face, a few subtle shades darker than he remembered it.  
He'd seen her a few days after her mother's death. Taken her  
in his arms and let her sob out all her sorrow into someone  
who wouldn't need her to be the strong one.

Every demon in the place couldn't take their gazes off of  
her. Of course, that might have more to do with her being  
the slayer . . .

Or perhaps it was because she actually had a worse voice  
than Angel had.

In her hands, she held the journal Elizabeth had warned him  
she'd given up. I should have known better than to leave it  
with the old bat, he thought fondly. An incurable romantic  
to her core once you get past her crusty exterior.

"Hello there, tall, dark and intense," the Host greeted as  
he sidled up to Angel. "Say, you didn't happen to misplace a  
slayer, did you?"

"How long has she been here?" Angel asked, his gaze not  
leaving Buffy onstage. She'd sensed him the moment he'd  
entered the bar, and he felt like she was singing the words  
of that song right to him.

"She showed up fifteen minutes ago, clutching that journal  
and asking if I was the one who told fortunes." He sighed.  
"I have a gift, and she tells me I'm a fortune teller. I  
swear, if it wasn't for everything I read in her, I'd be  
insulted."

"What did you read?" Angel asked, curious, and, truth be  
told, a bit concerned.

"Sorry, Angel baby," the Host soothed, "but Goldilocks'  
internal demons are just as private as your internal demon."

"And this is love, all it ever was and will be, this is  
love, when you let it, if you let it now, this is love, all  
it ever was and will be . . ."

"She went full-tilt wacko looking through the book to see if  
that song was on the play list," the Host remarked,  
indicating Buffy, crooning her heart out on stage. "Ooo, she  
tries so hard, and yet only succeeds in arousing the  
neighborhood alley cats."

"I could listen to her all night," Angel confided quietly.

"Well, isn't that just like a big, mushy superhero in love,"  
the Host gushed. "And if I haven't mentioned it, so very  
nice to have you back in the land of the living."

"So, what'd you see? Is there torrid romance in my future?  
Big ugly demons I have to slay? An ounce of stability?"  
Buffy had hopped down from the stage and joined their  
conversation, Angel's journal still clutched tightly in her  
hands.

The Host smiled kindly at her. "You know, I'd love to  
oblige, but there's nothing I could possibly tell you about  
your future that you don't already hold in your hands." He  
gave Angel a pointed look. "He knows what I mean." With a  
polite bow, he left Angel and Buffy alone.

Buffy glared up at Angel. "So it's all in this book, huh,"  
she groused quietly.

"Buffy," he began softly.

"No. How is my future in this book, Angel?"

Staring down at the journal, Angel silently admitted that he  
knew exactly what the Host was referring to.

That day. That day that had never happened. It was the only  
part of his life in L.A. he'd included in that journal. It  
hadn't been a test, so much as it had been a premonition.  
And if he hadn't given it all up, it never would have been  
his to hold for the rest of his life.

How he knew that so certainly in this moment, he couldn't  
say. Maybe it was this crazy bar finally starting to rub off  
on him.

"You haven't read it yet," he clarified.

Buffy frowned. "No. I read the 'forward' you wrote for it."

"Then you know."

"I don't know anything--"

"Buffy," he interrupted, pressing two fingers to her mouth.  
"If you read the forward, you know how it's going to end.  
You know there's no other way it could end."

Her lower lip quivered. "Maybe I'm just afraid then. Maybe  
I'm scared to death that this is just going to be one more  
thing in a long line of things in Buffy's life that don't go  
the way they're supposed to, the way I thought they would."

"This isn't working," he said at last.

"What?"

"This. You and I, being apart. I thought it would. I thought  
it would be best for you. But it's not, and I know damn good  
and well it isn't best for me."

"What are you saying?" she asked, and he could have sworn  
she sounded lost. That scared him, Buffy being lost. As it  
was, she was the only thing that helped him find his way  
home.

"I'm saying that . . . you should bring Dawn to visit for  
the summer," he said, talking before he'd thought things  
through. "You should stay in the hotel, and get to know my  
world, the life I've been building here.

"I'm saying that when it's time for school to start again, I  
should drive you both back, and stick around for a few  
weeks, and learn all about your world again. I'm saying that  
I want you to know me, Buffy. I want you to know me so that  
when the time comes, and we're free to be together, we won't  
waste a second of it feeling anything but bliss."

Buffy blinked, and he wondered if he'd said the wrong thing  
. . .

. . . but then she threw her arms around his neck, pressed  
her nose to his jaw and inhaled deeply. He wrapped himself  
around her in return, and experienced something he hadn't in  
longer than he could remember. The sensation of holding  
Buffy, of imagining a life with Buffy, without feeling sad  
or frustrated about it.

He had hope now, and after she'd read his journal, so would  
she. They'd take that hope and use it as a defense against  
the sorrow. Now, they could move beyond the pain, to get to  
something that wasn't quite lovers yet, but was far beyond  
friendship.

Something that would always, always be filled with love.

~

END

Cynamin's original challenge:

Okay, okay, I know only two people have ever answered  
a challenge of mine....but I'm begging. I'm really,  
truly begging. I'm cranky, I haven't been able to  
watch in over a month because of my class schedule,  
can't record either, and the less I watch the less I  
seem to care about the shows. Plus, most of the B/A  
fic has been of a rather depressing nature lately! So,  
help me find a reason to watch again and a reason to  
keep reading fanfic - answer my challenge!

The Challenge (big thanks to NutMeg and Alan for  
helping me come up with this):

Anyone else remember one of the episodes I really  
liked this year, the "crossover event" that was nearly  
entirely flashback? In the 1900 China (Boxer  
Rebellion) part of the Angel episode, Darla tried to  
get Angel to feed on the missionaries' baby. Instead  
he grabbed it and jumped out the window. So, here's  
the basic idea for the challenge - Buffy actually is  
descended from that baby. Somehow or another she finds  
out about Angel's connection to her family from some  
old relative she hasn't seen in years. What she does  
from there is up to you.

Here's what else I want:  
\- The story should take place this season, because  
that's the season you're trying to make me start  
watching. :P  
\- Get B/A back together. I guess that's pretty  
obvious, hmm? And if you can actually give them some  
time or thought about rebuilding a *healthy*  
realtionship. You can make the story as angsty as you  
want, but give me a happy ending. I need one badly.

Something else that would make me happy, but is not  
required:  
\- I'm obsessed with making Angel human. Be creative.  
Think of all the little, sometimes annoying but mundane  
human things he'd have to get used to.  
\- The song "This Is Love" by Mary Chapin Carpenter. I  
think it's just perfect for B/A. Lyrics included at  
the bottom.  
\- a Buffy/Darla confrontation. I *really* can't stand  
Darla.

Silly stuff to include or not as you see fit:  
\- the show (on the food network) "Iron Chef"  
\- Spike playing a harmonica  
\- Someone trying to teach themself a language (outside  
of classes)  
\- Live Giant Squid  
\- A flying giraffe (the animals were Alan's  
contribution)  
\- a crossover element (as in non-BtVS or Angel)  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

"This Is Love" by Mary Chapin Carpenter

"If you ever hear a voice in the middle of the night  
When it seems so black outside that you can't remember  
light  
Ever shown on you or the ones you love in this or  
another lifetime  
And the voice you need to hear is the true and the  
trusted kind  
With a soft, familiar rhythm in these swirling, unsure  
times  
When the waves are lapping in and you're not sure you  
can swim  
Well here's the lifeline

If you ever need to feel a hand take up your own  
When you least expect it but want it more than you've  
ever known  
Baby here's that hand and baby here's my voice that's  
calling

This is love, all it ever was and will be  
This is love

And if you ever need some proof that time can heal  
your wounds  
Just step inside my heart and walk these empty rooms  
Where shadows used to be, you can feel as well as see  
how peace can hover  
Now time's been here to fix what's broken with its  
power  
The love that smashed us both to bits spent its last  
few hours  
Calling out your name, I thought this is the kind of  
pain  
&gt;From which we don't recover

But I'm standing here now with my heart held out to  
you  
You would've thought a miracle was all that got us  
through  
Well baby all I know, all I know is I'm still standing

And this is love all it ever was and will be  
This is love

And I see you still and there's a catch in my throat  
and  
I just swallow hard til it leaves me  
There's nothing in this world that can change what we  
know  
Still I know I am here if you ever need me  
And this is love

And if you ever think of me let it be around twilight  
When the world has settled down and the last round of  
sunlight  
Is waning in the sky, as you sit and watch the night  
descending  
A car will pass out front with lovers at the wheel  
A dog will bark out back and children's voices peal  
Over and under the air, you've been there lost in the  
remembering

And if you ever wish for things that are only in the  
past  
Just remember that the wrong things aren't supposed to  
last  
Babe it's over and done and the rest is gonna come  
when you let it

And this is love, all it ever was and will be  
This is love, when you let it, if you let it now  
This is love, all it ever was and will be  
This is love"  
\---------------------------------------  
okay, that's it. Someone, anyone, please take up this  
challenge and make my week!  
~Cynamin


End file.
